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Most of my classes are with Spies and Enforcers. I don’t know which is worse. The Spies are ruthless, sarcastic, and disdainful. The Enforcers are mostly hot-heads and bullies, the type of jocks who don’t just want to win, they want to fucking destroy you.
I hate Combat class most of all. As soon as we face off against our opponents, I can see the change come over my classmates. Theirpupils dilate, they crouch down low, their breathing slows. That’s how a predator prepares to attack.
My body chooses flight over fight. My heart rate quadruples in speed and my muscles scream at me toRUN RUN RUN,so all I can do is raise my hands in surrender, to duck and cringe.
I’ve been knocked out twice already.
The first time was by a heavyset Enforcer who looked utterly bewildered when I woke up staring up at him from the mat.
“You didn’t even try to block my punch,” he said, shaking his head in bemusement.
The second time happened today, courtesy of my very own roommate Rakel. It felt a lot more personal. Anytime she and I get left without partners, I can see her boiling fury that anyone might think she’s equally as undesirable as me. She put me in a headlock within five seconds and ignored my hand desperately tapping on her shoulder, begging her to let go.
I woke up face-down on the mats, blood gushing out of my nose.
“A tap-out means you stop,” Professor Howell informs her sternly. He’s only a few inches taller than me, but he’s lean and fit and faster than a jackrabbit. When he’s in a good mood, he’s one of the more pleasant professors. But when you crosshim, he fixes you with a black stare that could curdle milk.
“I didn’t feel her tapping,” Rakel says, insolent and unrepentant. Even amongst the Spies, Rakel has a perpetual scowl that has made her barely any more popular than me.
“You’ll feel the consequences if you try it again,” the professor says, scalpel-sharp. “You see that over there?” He jerks his head toward a tall metal cylinder in the corner of the gym. It looks like an Iron Maiden—smooth and featureless on the exterior, with only a glassed-in horizontal slit at eye level.
“Yes,” Rakel says slowly.
“That’s a deoxygenation chamber. Useful for training for high altitudes or increasing stamina by forcing the body to overproduce red blood cells. I can change the oxygen percentage to any level I like. You ignore a tap-out again, and I’ll put you in there for half an hour. You won’t suffocate. But you’ll feel like you’re drowning the entire time. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Rakel says again.
Professor Howell turns away.
Rakel faces me once more, pure hatred in her eyes. No hint of remorse. She looks so murderous that I almost want to apologize for getting her in trouble. But I squash that thought.
“Face off again,” Professor Howell commands.
Fuck me.I was hoping we’d at least swap partners. I need Rakel to cool off a little before we spar again. Like, maybe for the next hundred years.
Professor Howell told us to keep our hands up to protect our faces, and to hold our cores tight. I try to do it, but as soon as someone rushes at me I crumple up in a little ball.
“Ready . . .” the professor says.
No. I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready.
“Go!”
Rakel comes at me like a bat out of hell, swooping in, popping me with a jab to the left eye that snaps my head back and makes my already bruised brain rattle around in my skull.
She swings again, and I actually manage to duck that one, just barely. I’m so surprised that I don’t see her next blow coming, not even a little bit. She slams me in the right ear, and the whole gym spins around like a merry-go-round. She comes in for a final blow, fist already cocked.
Before I can think, before I can consider what a monumentally bad idea this is, my fist lashes out right at her face.
I hit her in the mouth. Her lips feel horribly squishy and mobile under my knuckles. My fist slides across her teeth, and one of those teeth cuts me. I jump away from her again, saying, “Sorry. Oh my god, you’re bleeding!”
Rakel touches her bottom lip, which is already beginning to swell. She looks at the bright red blood on her fingertips as if she’s never seen anything like it.
“Time!” Professor Howell calls.
I’m not looking at him. I’m watching Rakel, poised on tiptoe, because if she tries to strangle me, I’m just going to turn and run away.
Strangely, inexplicably, Rakel doesn’t look quite as angry anymore. She wipes her fingers off on her gray gym shorts, leaving a dark smear.
